


lend me your eyes and I'll change what you see

by whoistorule



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoistorule/pseuds/whoistorule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Natasha never was one to believe in good nature, not when it was so much easier for people to do what they wanted than what was right, but even if she did, even if she was a dewy eyed idealist with flowers in her hair, she'd still know Harold Barton for what he was: a lying drunkard son of a bitch who'd sell his sons for a bottle of brown piss if someone told him it was liquor.</i>
</p><p>More Avengers High School AU.  In this one Natasha and Kate Bishop go for a little drive, get a little drunk, have a little talk about Clint Barton, and maybe fight and make out a little bit. You know. Normal like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lend me your eyes and I'll change what you see

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionlannister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionlannister/gifts).



It rained the night before, the type of rain that loosed the dust from the earth and clung to it until it muddied everything it touched.  It squealed against the wheels of Natasha's 1967 Mustang convertible, splattering the sidewalks and marring the precise red with splotches of earth. She'd have to get it cleaned again soon, or else have Clint do it for her.  It was easier this way, when he did things for her, easier for Natasha to slip twenty bucks in his pocket and call it an exchange.  She was uncomfortable with the giving of charity as he with the receiving.

It must have been the rain, the dirt, and the thought of him that led her from asphalt to gravel to the muddy trench that could barely be called a street even when it was dust she ground beneath her wheels.  A symphony of rickety screen doors greeted the grunting chords of her Mustang in the Texas wind.  Natasha knew he wouldn't be home - Saturdays were for football practice, for reliving the mistakes of the prior night and atoning with sprints and the sounds of shoulders hitting plastic padding again and again like a drumbeat, but she kept driving anyway.  There was a curiosity at his doorstep.  The silhouette of a girl, poised on something large and square.  Natasha's stomach churned the closer she drew, and beginning to simmer.  It was a crate, mud-caked wooden slats wedged firmly into the dirt, and she could see the glint of brown glass between the cracks.  She never was one to believe in good nature, not when it was so much easier for people to do what they wanted than what was right, but even if she did, even if she was a dewy eyed idealist with flowers in her hair, she'd still know Harold Barton for what he was: a lying drunkard son of a bitch who'd sell his sons for a bottle of brown piss if someone told him it was liquor.

The figure was no less easy to solve than the crate.  Brown haired and bright eyes and approximately nine years old in Barton's words, one Kate Bishop perched upon the splintering slats swinging her legs, kicking them against the crate and listening to the rattle.

"Ay, Katya," Natasha called, leaning over the white leather seats, "When did that show up?"

"About five minutes before I did.  The truck was pulling away as my driver pulled in. It's from the liquor store in town." Natasha's eyes were drawn to Kate's hands; they were folding and unfolding a thin yellow sheet of paper that crackled as she creased it.

"How much?"

"It's a lot, Natasha.  Probably a whole paycheck."

In Russia, a man as stupid as Harold Barton would drink himself into a snowdrift and like that, Clint's problems would be over.  But Texas offered no such simple solutions.  Her winters were milder and the summer's cruel heat may parch and purge but it sustained.

With a sigh, Natasha hopped over the closed door, her stilettos sinking into the mud.

"Where is he?"

"Clint? At practice."

"Nyet, Katya, where is he."

Kate shaded her eyes with purple tipped fingers, taking in the sight of Natasha Romanoff, red hair held chicly back by a sheer black scarf, her black cigarette pants and no doubt vintage leather jacket warding off the post-rain chill. "I don't know," she said, glancing at the door then back to Natasha. "I didn't want to go in."

Frowning, Natasha marched across the yard, moving too quickly to let her heels sink in to the mud.  Setting her jaw, Kate followed a moment after, hopping off the crate with an audible clang from the bottles beneath.

Natasha coaxes the screen door open, muffling its whines and squeaks with soft pulls.  Once she's opened it sufficiently enough to slip in, she handed it's splintering edge to Kate, with a muttered command to hold it steady.

A thunderous snore cracked from the couch and Natasha sighed. She needn't have bothered with the secrecy, apparently, since the son of a bitch was passed out on the couch with a drooly dazed expression that told Natasha he wouldn't be hearing anything for quite some time.

With a pull of her fingers, Natasha waved Kate in.  "Where are we going?" Kate whispered and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"One, do not whisper, Kate Bishop.  Speak in a low volume, like I do. Whispering will give you away.  Two, do not waste valuable time with questions.  Now come, we are going to see how much damage Harold Barton has done."

\--

The fridge was probably white once, but age and lack of care had aged it yellow.  The magnets - all promotional, two from the local car dealership, one from the petrol station, three from the Applebee's in town - held up bills that no doubt needed to be paid an old grocery lists, each with only a few items crossed off. The fridge pulled open with a gasp of released suction and eyed the situation as Kate rustled through the papers behind her.

Grabbing two of the four six packs, Natasha propped the door open with her foot, gesturing for Kate to grab the other two, but the younger girl was preoccupied with a piece of paper she'd picked up off the floor, one that had loosed when Natasha pulled the door free.

"What is that?  Put that back!"

Silently, Kate held it up to her.  The crayon lines were cracking with age, the paper's corners wilting, but there they were, in garish purples, Clint and his brother on a tightrope's wire, a bow in each of their hands.  "Running away to the cirkus" it read in a child's messy scrawl, and Natasha bit back a sigh.

"Katya," she said gently, resting the two six packs against the top of the fridge, "there is nothing we can do. We cannot fix what has already occurred.  Now put it back and help me with something we can fix, da?"

Kate nodded, shoving the paper back behind a crumpled newspaper littered with blue and black ink circles demarking possible jobs so simple even a dumbass alcoholic son of a bitch could do them.

\--

The six packs were easy enough to put in the trunk but the crate was another matter all together.  It was clearly too large to fit in the back, and Natasha had no idea how much of a help Kate would even be trying to lift it into the backseat.

To her surprise, Kate pulled off her cardigan to reveal muscles Natasha would not have expected on a boy, let alone a girl of Kate's age.  Together they managed to haul it into the backseat with little difficulty, the muddy crate squealing against the white leather as Natasha clucked her tongue in disapproval. She would _definitely_ need Clint to wash her car.

"So," Natasha said once they had bounced and rolled their way from mud to gravel to asphalt, the bottles chorusing and clanging with each dip in the road, "where did you learn to lift like that?"

"The crate you mean?" Unprepared for the drive in a car like Natasha's, Kate's hair whipped around her, slapping her jaw and sticking to her lips. "Let's see, seven years of gymnastics, three of ballet, five years archery, three of fencing, oh, and one year of Krav Maga."

Natasha was well aware that her jaw had dropped, but she couldn't quite bring herself to close her mouth.

"It's this Israeli form of martial--"

"I know what Krav Maga is, Katya, that is not why I am staring.  You just surprised me, is all.  It's not often that I am surprised."

"Why? How did you acquire, I mean, how did you, well, why are you all muscly?"

"Much the same as you, I suppose. Gymnastics, ballet, some martial arts training. I deadlift, too. You never know when it will be helpful to be able to throw a 200 pound linebacker across a dive bar, though it is easier when you can use his momentum-"

"Against him," Kate finished for her. "I know. That's the first thing they teach you. Well, one of the first."

With a screech, Natasha stopped short, jostling the bottles into a clamor yet again.

"What? Why are we stopping?"

"Because we're here."

\--

Given the receipt, and the intensity of the stubbornness of the two girls before him, as well as his obvious unsurity of Natasha's age, the liquor store manager eventually conceded to the wholesale return of the crate of beer, but in the matter of the six packs, he downright refused.

"I'm sorry girls," he drawled, shaking his head, "but there's no proof your daddy even bought them here.  He could have gotten those from the Wal-Mart off exit 62 for all I know and now I'm givin' away my money. You're gonna have to take those back."

'Back' was the one place Natasha refused to take them, but she took the man's money regardless and hauled the glass bottles back to her trunk.

Kate pulled the passenger door closed with a slam and glanced sideways at Natasha. "Now what?"

\--

Texas wasn't the most mountainous state in the union, but Natasha knew her way around the area well enough to drive them to an outlook, well, it called itself an outlook. It was a hill overlooking a self-proclaimed creak that was little more than a trickle, though the last night's rain had given it more gusto than usual.  Due to it's less than impressive sights and its exciting local off the highway between the stops featuring a petrol station and the horrifyingly named "EconoLodge" and the nearest Wal-Mart it was rarely patronized and thus the optimal sight for some underage drinking.

Pulling over as near to the ledge as she could, Natasha turned off the car and stepped out, her heels again sinking into the Texas mud.  With a muttered curse, she took them off, tossing them into the backseat and unlocked the truck, offering Kate a warming beer.  "Come," she gestured, hopping on to the hood of the car with ease.

Unsure, the younger girl followed, letting Natasha crack the seal with her key ring.  "Um, Natasha?" Kate asked, taking a sip with a grimace, "can I ask you a question."

"Da," Natasha said, leaning back against the hood, her elbows warming on the heat soaked red paint. "Ask."

"Why are you doing this? I mean, any of this. You've barely spoken two words to me before today, even though we both hang out with Clint all the time.  I didn't even think you liked me."

"I don't."

Kate gulped audibly. "Calm down Katya, I don't dislike you. I just don't know you well enough to know if I like you." Natasha's laugh slipped from her lips, but gave Kate no ease. "You Americans all need so desperately to be liked. Even you expect it, though we've barely spoken. How should I know how I feel about you?"

"So that's why we're doing this? So you can figure out if you like me?"

Natasha shrugged, taking another sip. "Why must there be a why? Your Texan weather is being kind, and we have more beer than we know what to do with. Is that not enough?"

That silenced Kate for a moment or two, as she, too drank, but her quiet was short lived. "So then why do you call me Katya if you don't like me? I thought nicknames were supposed to be affectionate."

"You call me Natasha."

"That's your name!"

"Nyet, Katya. My name is Natalia Alianova Romanova. Natasha is not a name; it's a diminutive, like your Kate for Katherine. Natasha for Natalia, Katya for Ekaterina. You are familiar with me and I with you. I'm not rude, well," she amended with a smile, "Not without purpose."

"Do you want to like me?"

Natasha sat up, giving Kate a hard look. "You are persistent, aren't you."

"Yes. So. Do you?"

Sighing, she tossed her bottle aside and grabbed another, cracking the lid before she allowed herself to answer. "I suppose I want to understand you. Clint admires you, oh don't look so shocked you knew that, and I want to know why. He admires so few people."

Silence stretched between them as Natasha waited for Kate to respond, her gaze far off into the empty sky.  Quietly, Natasha handed her a second beer,

"You said I'm persistent, well at first Clint didn't even want me around.  He was sort of responsible for me.  Or maybe I was responsible for him. You know Ms. Hill? The assistant principal? Well she said if I wanted to graduate in two years I would need to prove I knew the 11th grade curriculum with independent projects, and Clint, well he's failing, like, everything so if he wants to graduate at all, he's in the same boat as me."

Kate took another long swallow, but Natasha said nothing. That was the thing about people; if you didn't fill their silences, if you left the air empty, they would find something more to say, just to keep the air moving.

"So here I am, a freshman, and this giant senior boy is going to fail if I don't come up with something, because of course he won't do any work at all. At first it was like he was a ghost - I couldn't pin him down at all.  I went to his practice and he'd run out early, I'd wait after his classes but he'd brush me off. And then at the last minute he shows up in the library and our first project is due tomorrow, and I'm explaining it to him, and like that," Kate snapped, the sharp sound echoing in the still air, "he comes up with a better idea. It was rough of course, and it had no finesse, but it was brilliant.  So what do I do? I change our whole damn project." Another gulp of warm beer slid down her throat, and Kate licked her lips. "We only got a B+. I was crushed. But Clint, he was so elated he lifted me into the damn air and spun me around like we were in an old movie."

Natasha let a smile skip across her lips; she could picture it. That was Clint, after all. When he was happy, his exuberance was like the sun, it could warm a room or break her from her darkest moods, but when it left, when the despair set in, he was inconsolable.  "So you help him with these little... projects?" She asked, watching Kate help herself to another beer.

"At first but now? I don't know.  We still do them. We have to, after all, but he's been so... out of it lately.  Over Christmas he actually mailed me all of our materials.  Like he actually went to the post office and sent a damn box, even though I love across town, with a note that said I was better off without him and he was running away to the circus.  I walked halfway across town carrying it back to him before I realized I didn't actually know his address and I had to go back home and get my dad's driver to take me."

Natasha crossed her legs, swinging them lightly against the car. That, too was like Clint. Given the choice between fight or flight, he'd run away until the last second, and only then would he take a stand, fighting more fiercely than anyone else could. It's what made him extraordinary.

"That's why -- the picture in his kitchen. I thought he was joking, you know? Who runs away to join the circus anymore. But no.  He meant it."

The sun was beating down on them hard as it hit it's peak; Natasha's black clothes stuck like tar to her sweaty skin and she would guess Kate's dark purple was much of the same. The warm beer certainly didn't help, but it was all they had, and talking was thirsty making work. Kate was certainly farther along than she and Natasha didn't know what the younger girl's tolerance levels were like.

As if to prove her thoughts true, Kate suddenly threw her bottle as hard as it could, and Natasha bit back a grin at the sound of the glass shattering against the hillside. "He's such a... a jerk sometimes, you know! It's so stupid because he's so smart. He's like ridiculously smart. He can figure most things out on his own, but it's like he needs to feel like his life is on the line to get anything done! And he doesn't believe me when I tell him how smart he is. He just gives me this aw shucks look and calls me Katie! And it's like, like... it's like when he was little it's not even someone told him he wasn't smart or good at things, but like they went into his brain and cut out the piece that made him think he even had the ability to be smart or good at things. Except football. That he knows he's good at."

"Other people."

"What?" Kate stared at her like she had forgotten Natasha was even there, like she had been rehashing aloud a thought she'd had again and again in the privacy of her own mind, like she was startled that there was another person to hear the things she never though she could say.

"You said he only fights when it's his life on the line. That's not true. He only fights for other people. When the only person he has to protect is himself, he loses it entirely. Katya he only fights for other people. Do you know why he showed up in the library, why he celebrated something you found to be lacking? It was for you."

“Oh.”  Natasha could see the weight of it sink in against her, could see the pressure of his affection, and of the responsibility it carried, set into Kate’s shoulders and spread across her body, drawing her taut as a bowstring.

“So are you in love with him?”

Beer sputtered down Natasha’s throat, bubbling through her nostrils, making her snort.  “What?  Of course not.  I didn’t think you were stupid, Katya.”

“Well then what are you to him?  I’ve seen him look at you.”

“I’m his friend, of course.  He was in love with me once, but that’s a common problem.  Usually I get bored.  Not with him, though.  There’s something about Clint Barton.  He sinks his teeth into you, and you can’t let him go.  But the rest of them?  Well, you know how men are.  Or maybe you don’t.  How old are you, anyway?”

“Hey!  I’m fifteen.  I’ve had boyfriends.  Well, boyfriend.  Singular.  Eli. He left though.  His grandmother moved him to another school district.  But had he stayed, he would have been quarterback some day.  He was the best JV quarterback in the state.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Ah, yes fifteen.  You must be so well versed in the realm of sex.  Tsch, child one boyfriend does not a woman make.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re _barely_ older than me. And I bet I could take you in a fight, too.”

Teeth bared, catlike, Natasha smiled.  It was cute, that Kate thought she could take her on when Natasha had fought off men much larger than this little slip of a thing and won handily. “Prove it.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Kate Bishop. You think you can fight me? You think you can win? Prove it.”

“What, here?”

“Where else? You want to talk like a woman, then own it and prove it to me. Or are you afraid?”

“No.” Kate pulled off her cardigan and threw it haphazardly against the hood of the car. Next came her own shoes, which joined Natasha’s in the back seat. Kate flexed her arms above her, and set her legs against the ground.

“Come at me, Katya.”

Kate laughed, and Natasha felt the first trickles of adrenaline rush into her veins.  “I know better than _that._ Please.”

“Then I’ll come at you.”  And come at Kate Natasha did, rushing towards the younger girl until the last moment.  She knew what Kate expected, the full force of a blow she could deflect, she could use against her, but Natasha stopped, letting Kate’s expectations propel her forward onto the wet soil.

Natasha pinned her easily, that she expected, but what she didn’t expect was for Kate to fight back, grabbing at Natasha’s hair, making her screech as Kate fought for control, shoving Natasha to the ground next to her, until it was Natasha that was beneath Kate, her breath starting to come heavy.

Kate made her next mistake quickly, bringing her head down to gloat.  It was easy for Natasha to swing her own forehead up, clanging it against Kate’s, making her lose her grip on Natasha’s arms.  Hands free, Natasha pushed Kate off of her, until she hit the ground hard beside her.  This time, when Natasha pinned her down, she grabbed Kate’s wrists first; her thighs keeping Kate steady against the ground as she wriggled.

“You’re not bad,” Natasha heaved, loosing Kate’s arms and rolling off of her, letting her body sink into the ground beside her, her fingers wriggling in the mud.

“Neither are you.”

Natasha nodded.  It had been a good bout, though she’d had better, but those hadn’t been in the Texas heat, and parched and tipsy to boot.

“So,” Kate propped herself up on her elbows, her shirt splattered with earth, her smile playful. “Are we friends yet?”

At that, Natasha let loose a real laugh, one filled with mirth.  “Da, Katya. I suppose we are on our way to being friends.”

“Good. Because I like you. And Clint likes you. And I want you to like me, and I don’t care if you know that. I mean I guess you knew that already. Or I guess you guessed that. But what I’m saying is-”

The brush of Natasha’s lips stopped Kate’s warbling speech in its tracks.  She froze, and Natasha pulled back with a slim smile. “You don’t always need to talk, Katya.  Sometimes it’s good to be silent.”

Kate nodded, her hair matting with mud, then suddenly sat up. Fishlike she opened her lips, then closed them again, opened and closed, until courage loosed her tongue to speak.  “I know you said silent but…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I was very good at that. The kissing I mean. Can we…” Kate blushed, “Can we try that again?”

Calves pressing against the dirt, Natasha kneeled, leaning towards Kate. Gently, she cupped Kate’s chin between her manicured fingers and drew her close.  “It’s simple, Katya, natural. You don’t have to work to perfect it. Just follow.” Softly, Natasha kissed Kate’s upper lip, then her lower one.  Her tongue slipped between Kate’s lips gently as Natasha slid her hand through Kate’s mud-caked hair. For a moment, Kate was cold, then her lips parted to let Natasha in, her own tongue responding in suit.

The sun’s hot and hazy, and Natasha finds herself closing her eyes, pushing as Kate pulls, until Kate’s back is against the earth again and Natasha atop her, the younger girl panting between her thighs, sighing with attention, with affection, as Natasha kisses her well.  Kate’s teeth nip at Natasha’s lower lip, and a fire starts to build in the bottom of her stomach, making her squirm against Kate.

It’s not until Natasha feels Kate’s hands brushing against her stomach, her fingers slipping beneath black cotton to find warm skin that she pulls back, and Kate gasps, speechless for only the second time.

“See, Katya?” Natasha says, extricating herself from Kate as if seconds ago, she hadn’t forgotten where she was, or who she was with. “You’re good at this. You just need to relax.”

Offering her a now dirt-streaked hand, Natasha glanced at the sky, then to her car. The fighting (and kissing) had sobered her enough to drive, and Clint ought to be out of practice by now.  “Come. We’ve a drive back to town. I think that’s enough lessons for one day.”

Speechless still, Kate just nodded, accepting Natasha’s hand with a quiet smile.

\--

It was a familiar sight, that of Natasha Romanoff leaning against her pristine red convertible, dressed in black, French cigarette lit in one hand, steely eyed and knowing, waiting for Clint Barton to walk out of football practice muddied and smiling. Less familiar was an unkempt Natasha, mud-streaked and smiling at the girl beside her caked in the same mud, wearing the same smile.

“Woah!” Clint yelled, as he ran towards Natasha’s car. “What happened? Who did this?”

“Hush, Clint, nothing happened. We just got a bit dirty, right Katya?”

“Right.”

Clint eyed them warily for a moment, then shrugged.  If he was surprised to see them together, for once he held his tongue. “If you say so.”  Hopping over the back door, he settled into the back seat, beside the beer. Holding one up, he shook it.

“So does this have anything to do with why you girls are all covered in dirt?”

“Well…” Kate smiled, “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Fine, fine. You keep your secrets. I’m starved. Pizza anyone?”

“Pizza sounds good,” Natasha nodded, adjusting her rearview mirror. “It’s on me, da?”

“No,” Kate shook her head, “It’s on us.”


End file.
